


My Ascension

by Nims Archive (Underratedmoon)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alexios is Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Angst, Deimos!Alexios - Freeform, Departure from Canon, Gen, Major game spoilers, Rewritten idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underratedmoon/pseuds/Nims%20Archive
Summary: Deimos took an unexpected trip to Phokis after everything that happened while meeting the imprisoned Eagle Bearer in Athens. He’s returned but is unsure of what he is doing within the walls of the Cult of Kosmos, or who he can really trust. Rash decisions with no time to second guess throws Deimos onto a journey of his own while he tries to figure out what exactly his destiny actually means.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	My Ascension

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a Deimos!Alexios centered story. It will involve canon characters and mentions of others to add as support characters. There are huge story and character spoilers for the latter half of the game. This is only the first chapter in a multichapter story.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cave, into the large chamber that lay hidden beneath the Temple of Apollo. They were heavy, with a force behind them. Other than his footsteps, there was only the sound of rushing water from the opposite end and a faint hum coming from the artifact in the center. The chamber was empty of any living thing. Not a surprise to Deimos as he let out a gruff groan upon entering the room from the tunnel. 

Having just returned to Phokis, he was both relieved and bothered that there was no one else around for him to interact with. Things from that last trip were gnawing at the back of his mind and he thought he needed something to distract him.

The first thought in his mind upon entering lead him right to the artifact. He approached it with an air of caution, even though he had used it countless times in the past. The humming from the artifact hit his ears and seemed to intensify as it got closer. Like a siren's call, it beckoned him like in the past. Deimos was tempted to simply touch his hand to the artifact and allow it to show the Chosen One what was to be done. Something to give him the answers he was looking for. Either vision of the future or something from the past.

His hand lifted as he stepped up to the artifact, fingertips nearly brushing the surface of the pedestal. But he stopped himself, holding in place. A second of hesitation and doubts entered his mind. He withdrew his hand, clenching into a fist at his side. Deimos kept his gaze on the light of the artifact, thoughts passing through his mind.

Thoughts wandering back to his most recent trip. A trip that had taken him to Athens, but not on a mission of war. It was a journey he wasn't sure what he had been ready for. And one that he had since been snapped at by members of the Cult. A fact he was told to correct, but something still bothered him.

Deimos hadn't been satisfied with the outcomes of conversations he had with either Cult members or his own sister, if he could even call her that. Past interactions with her had always been questionable at best, but this last one had sent his mind reeling. His mind had been forming ideas and questioning everything he had been put through his entire life. Everything the Cult had done for him or to him.

Everything that he knew about himself coming from the people who raised him but were now being contradicted by someone who knew him by blood. For his entire life, Deimos had the goals of the Cult and his own that he had been raised to obtain. But even he knew he couldn't always deal with all the pressures that were always expected of their champion.

Everything had been building to this. He had succeeded in bringing the Cult to power in Athens, following the murder of Perikles and the devastating plague that attacked Attika. All he wanted at this point was to shut out the outside world and spend one night in the quiet of his own space. Away from all the thoughts and pains that just seemed to keep building.

And he took comfort in that fact that he always had something to supposedly come home to. His foul mood, however, was building, as he walked across the length of the room and back, pacing. Even though he enjoyed the empty space, it shouldn't have been this empty. Something was off. Whether because so many of the Cult had been taken out by the Eagle Bearer, or because later stages of the Cult's plans to take on the many territories and forces were playing out simultaneously across Hellas, requiring more of their soldiers to be taken away.

It didn't make sense to him, however, that the guards who were even normally camped at the Temple were missing. There was something majorly wrong here. It bugged him to no end but that was just adding to his anxieties. And after several minutes of pacing, Deimos had enough impatience. His mind started playing through the events back in Athens, between him and Kassandra, and the confrontation with Kleon.

He had been told many things never disclosed to him by the Cult, but Kassandra had delivered several "truths" that he hadn't expected, nor knew whether or not to believe. But how Kleon treated him, verbally pushing him away from her, treating the demigod like a child getting scolded. Deimos couldn't stand the thoughts anymore. He launched into a bout of rage, marching over and kicking down one of the braziers standing near the entrance. Much a reminder in how he expressed himself in anger back when his narrowed view of the world from the Cult changed. The day he had become reunited with his past.

His eyes darted around the now darkened room, focusing back on the artifact. It seemed to glow even brighter with the absence of other light sources. Deimos didn't stay focused on it for more than a fleeting moment as he continued his pace, kicking over yet another brazier. He seemed to work his anger through the room, snuffing out any sources of light that were near him. All that remained was the glow from the artifact and it's surrounding aura.

Deimos clenched his fists, letting out an angered yell that echoed through the chamber. Angrily marching up to the artifact, he almost had the sense to withdraw his Sword of Damokles and shove it deep into the stand from which the artifact stood. Managing to resist the urge, at least for the moment, he turned away from the stand, looking off into the darkness.

His eyes slid shut slowly as he took a moment to collect himself. Crossing arms over his chest, Deimos had managed to huff out a few breaths, deepening them as he went. It was a technique to calm himself he had learned from some people when he was off on one of his jobs. An odd thing to him, it worked surprisingly well, as his anger slowly subsided. His chest giving an even rise and fall as he kept his thoughts focused just on the breathing for the moment.

It was a rare moment of what he thought could be considered peace. Deimos kept still and silent for several minutes. Unfortunately, that was interrupted upon the doors to the tunnel being opened. Deimos could hear the sound of the heavy doors creaking, however, he couldn't tell whoever it was that was entering the chamber just from the sounds. He cracked open one eye, it reflecting the low golden glow from the artifact as he stared opposite him towards the darkened entrance.

There was torchlight bouncing off the walls as whoever it was walked down the steps. The sources showed that there were at least two torches, however, he heard no voices. Only multiple footsteps echoed into the chamber. As the people came into view, he made note of the silver shine of armor from Cult guards. In response, he slowly lowered his arms to his sides, opening both eyes but squinting them in the lower light. Someone dressed in a black cloak and the familiar white mask of the Cult marched behind them. A figure he couldn't make out in the lowered darkness.

Instinctively, as the guards stopped in the entrance to the open chamber with the Cultist, Deimos' hand twitched next to his sword. His arm moved slowly as if preparing to strike someone down, even though they were on the same side.

'Sounds like you're on their side but they aren't on yours.'

Deimos' eyes widened for a moment as his gaze focused on the artifact. The words Kassandra had spoken to him back in Athens repeated in his mind. It was almost as if it was an echo coming from the artifact. Something only he could hear. Replaying the conversation yet again in his mind.

"Deimos?"

His mind snapped back to reality upon hearing a female voice from behind the mask. A voice that he had known many a year. One that he could place without a thought.

"Aspasia..."

His voice deepened as he dragged out the syllables. Restrained anger laced his voice, matching a menacing glint from his eyes reflecting the artifact. It seemed as if Deimos couldn't even look at her at the moment, only keeping his focus on the artifact.

Aspasia approached him, albeit with caution. The guards remained near her as she approached him. As they came closer, Deimos raised his gaze, studying the guards and recognizing that they were two elite brutes, easily matching him in size. Their weapons were not currently out, but that didn't stop Deimos from leaving a hand hovered near his blade.

The angered gaze focused back on Aspasia as she began speaking to him, sounding as if she was jumping into an interrogation.

"Deimos, where have you been? Kleon told me that you had left Athens, but you disappeared. Why didn't you inform anyone of where you were going? We could have escorted you back here if that was where you wanted to go. You can't just leave–"

"I am not a child whose every move must be watched by the eyes of your Cult!" As those words left his lips, his voice began to rise, the anger becoming more apparent in tone, as well as how his body moved. His hand moved to rest on the grip of his blade, stepping forward into a striking position. However, his body stopped moving. Deimos wasn't completely sure of his next move.

His eyes were glued to the white mask that hid Aspasia's shocked face. She couldn't fully comprehend this sudden outburst. But with this, she maintained her composure in front of him. The Cult was used to dealing with Deimos  
when he got slightly out of hand. But unfortunately for her, this wasn't just some little tantrum.

Attempting to clear her throat, while also holding arms up to signal the guards to remain back, Aspasia collected herself some more. Her eyes never left Deimos, knowing that would be a deadly mistake. As they stared at one another, Aspasia attempted to calm the fearsome man.

"Deimos, you are not a child. You are our chosen champion. Without you, the Cult of Kosmos would not be able to achieve everything we have. We simply need our Champion now more than ever. I know you can understand that."

His eyes narrowed slightly, brows furrowing as if he was trying to decipher exactly what she was getting at. But there was no wait in his response, his body barely shifting. "Without me, the Cult, your Cult, would be nothing."

Aspasia thought playing into his ego would ease the situation. She visibly relaxing slightly, but Deimos tensed up in response. "You would be nothing. But I am not nothing." Deimos's voice was quiet as if he was repeating words to himself. "The Cult is nothing without me, but I am not nothing without the Cult."

The confused look hidden behind Apsasia's mask turned quickly to fear when the Sword of Damokles was suddenly out, pointed at her. Darkened eyes filled with unsteady rage stared from the other end of the outstretched blade. His movements had been too fast to simply track. He had closed the space between them, the blade tip only inches from her face.

The guards acted, drawing their weapons but hesitated to move past Aspasia and attack Deimos. She could barely form a thought with such a threat suddenly upon her. But it seemed Deimos was thinking clearer than ever. "I am not your puppet. Not like those soldiers of yours."

"D-Deimos, I–"

"No excuses, Aspasia!" Deimos stepped closer to Aspasia, the blade moving fluid with his body, dropping to press against her throat. "No tricks. No manipulation. No words to get you out of this." His eyes flicked to the guards and they flinched. In any other circumstances, he would have laughed at such an action, enjoying the superiority. But now, he was simply happy to be free.

Aspasia swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of the blade nick her skin at the movement. She was being put in a position she never favored. One where she had none of the control. Everything was in the hands of Deimos, a man unpredictable to the masses.

When she tried to move back from the blade, even slightly, Deimos grabbed her arm and pulled her back to it, twisting them so that Aspasia ended up with her back pressed firmly against his chest, and the blade holding her from the front. His anger appeared stable for the moment, but as his grip tightened on her arm, his pulse quickening, Deimos could snap at any moment.

And as Deimos whispered into her ear, in a soft, almost unnatural voice for the demigod, the grip on her arm and the blade tightened further. "I have my own destiny and I have no need for the Cult or yourself."

"Deimos, wait!" Aspasia's voice came out as pure panic. He could feel the shaking from her body, but that didn't deter him.

"Nothing you say will change your fate. I will take your life as I have done to countless others."

Even though he spoke those words, Deimos still wasn't entirely certain what was going to come for him after the next few moments.

Aspasia spoke, trying to quell the panic, "Whatever it is you need from us, we can still provide for you. Just like we always have."

It was a long moment of silence. No one seemed to speak or move, the guards even appearing as statues. Deimos wasn't sure what exactly he could use to answer Aspasia. All he knew was that he was about done with whatever control the Cult wanted for him. However, his train of thought was interrupted as he felt a sudden pressure in his side. The feeling was followed by a warm feeling of blood beginning to flow under his armor. It only delayed the pain that came a second later.

Aspasia pushed herself away from Deimos, him being much larger allowed her to slip downward. She released the grip on the dagger that had been sunken into his left side near his hip, angled upward right below his belt. The blade had a good couple inches deep, however, she couldn't do much more damage than a distraction to get away.

Deimos growled in pain as he stumbled back a step. The moment Aspasia was free, the two guards moved on him. Bringing up the Sword of Damokles, he took a wild swing at one of them, immediately clipping their shoulder. He couldn't take them down like all those everyday soldiers, but they didn't pose much of a problem, even in his slightly injured state.

However, in the time that Deimos took them down, Aspasia made her escape from the chamber. Deimos stuck his blade into the head of one of the guards and dropped them to the floor. It was an instant kill. He then twisted his body, using his movement as leverage to swing the blade and cleaved it clean through the second guard. The impact dropped him and Deimos thrust the blade through the guard's head. After dropping them, he gave a few extra angry jabs into both their bodies, making sure they remained down.

After seeing that Aspasia was gone, Deimos felt his anger settling back down. The danger was gone and he was alone again. His next immediate task was taking care of the pain as it resurfaced in his hip. Moving around had expanded the wound slightly. 

Looking around, he eyed the now dead Cult soldiers. He had been given knowledge on how to treat battle wounds, but at the moment, he knew there weren't much of the right supplies around. Deimos spent some time considering, the pain nary more than a dull annoyance at this point. 

He made a reach for the clothing on one of the bodies and tore away at it. He removed the blade slowly and then fashioned a patch of cloth and bindings over the wound. It wouldn't last him too long but he had other things to focus on. He rose himself to his feet and looked over the bodies in the low light.

After standing over the bodies for what felt like hours, though had only been a few minutes longer, Deimos directed his attention back towards the artifact.

'I heard you are unpredictable.'

Once again, he could hear Kassandra's voice coming from the artifact. He held the bloodied sword in his hand, approaching it slowly. As he got closer, he could hear more and more of Kassandra.

'I know you, it doesn't matter.'

'No one told you that I tried to save you?'

'Do the right thing. Come with me.'

'Alexios.'

'Deimos. Now him, I don't know.'

'We still found each other, brother.'

The more her voice seemed to speak in his head, the angrier he got. Deimos let out an angered yell, raising the Sword of Damokles and plunged it into the alter for the artifact. The humming died down almost immediately and the light in the room disappeared. The voices of Kassandra ceased and Deimos was left alone in darkness and silence.

Pulling the sword free, Deimos put it back on his side, and within the darkness, he made his way to the entrance of the chamber, having memorized it in all his years spent here. His pace was slow as he made his walk, thinking. Trying to think about not only his next physical step but also his next move, the next goal, the next destination. After all, he had pretty much just committed treason on the Cult of Kosmos, the only home he had ever known.

Making it to the entrance and before ascending the stairs, Deimos took one last look into the darkness, towards where the dead artifact stood. With the thoughts collecting in his mind, an answer finally appeared. He needed to go, however, he could. Deimos would return to Athens. And with that new goal in mind, Deimos exited the chamber, heading off into the cool night air of Delphi, unsure of how exactly he was going to make the long journey back to the epicenter of this conflict.


End file.
